by Louise Allen
‘My dear Benedict, if she had shot me, my men would have killed her. I hit her for her own protection. And speaking of protection—we have the ship, so I believe your parole has expired.’ The Count spoke in rapid Albanian and his captors began to drag Chance towards the rail. He fought desperately. How far were they from land? Could he hope to swim, or would they put a bullet in him before he hit the water? The merchant ship’s crew took a step forward and a single gunshot jerked them to a halt. As he was dragged to the rail Chance twisted his head and bit one of the hands holding his shoulder hard, to the bone.
The blow on the back of his head came out of nowhere; he was unconscious before he hit the deck.
Alessa came to herself slowly and she lay, eyes closed, listening, waiting while she regained her senses. Her head and neck ached, but it was not disabling. Nothing else hurt. She was lying on something soft, which was swaying. No, the cabin was swaying, she was still on board.
Cautiously she opened her eyes on to a completely unfamiliar, luxurious cabin. She was not on the same ship, she realised. By the way it moved, this was smaller. She was on the pirate vessel.
It was then, as she attempted to sit up on the bed, that she realised her hands were tied. Someone had used silk scarves or sashes, for the fabric was soft against her skin until she tried to jerk at it. Each wrist was secured separately and the bonds went to the posts at the head. There was enough length to them to let her sit up, to move her arms up and down, but get off the bed she could not.
She could see the Count’s hand in this. Tied up and a prisoner, certainly, but secured with silk, on a comfortable bed, and able to move and make herself comfortable. This care was sinister: what was he keeping her for? She would have been happier to find herself in the bilges.
The door opening brought her as upright as she could manage. He was not going to see her trembling, whatever he had come for. And whatever it was, there was one question she must have an answer for first, and before anything.
Voltar Zagrede lounged into the cabin, his dark eyes amused, the wide sensual mouth twisted into an appreciative smile. ‘My dear Alessa, how very lovely you look like that.’ He moved to sit on the edge of the bed and swerved elegantly as she kicked out at him. ‘I much regret having to hit you, but really, my dear, what do you think would have happened to you if you had shot me? I would not have been able to forgive myself.’
‘It would have been worth it,’ she snapped. ‘And you would not have to worry about it: I would have killed you.’
His dark brows shot up as he whistled in admiration. ‘So fierce! I was right about you. Magnificent.’
‘Oh never mind about that. What have you done with Chance? What was he doing here?’
‘My good friend Benedict has been with us from the start of this chase. We followed you out of harbour, changed our appearance a trifle, took on more men and we have been on your track ever since.’
‘But how did Chance come to be with you? He cannot have known this is a pirate ship, that you are a pirate.’
‘Of course he knew what I am. He is not what he seems, any more than I am.’ The Count took advantage of her concentration on Chance to approach the bed again. His hand slid down her hair to her shoulder. ‘You are too trusting, Alessa; that must change if you are to marry me—my wife must be ever on the alert.’
‘Marry you?’ She stared at him, but there seemed to be no sign of lunacy. The Count smiled calmly back at her with the same quizzical charm she had come to expect from him. ‘This is some sort of joke, I assume? I have to tell you, my sense of humour is not what it used to be.’
‘No joke.’ He wandered down the bed and began to stroke her ankle. Alessa kicked at him and he withdrew his hand, smiling. ‘I have your aunt and your cousin—they will be hostages against the actions of Lord Blackstone and Sir Thomas in suppressing piracy. Or at least, attempting to do so. Everyone tries, no one succeeds, but it is tiresome while it lasts.’
‘I am of no value as a hostage,’ she pointed out.
‘No. Your value to me lies elsewhere.’
‘As a wife?’ she queried sarcastically. ‘I have heard rape given many euphemisms, but that is a new one.’
‘Now you insult me.’ Alessa stared into the impudent black eyes. He is insulted? ‘I need a wife, I need sons. You are well bred, you are courageous, you are beautiful and you are a virgin. I desire you.’
‘Well, I do not desire you,’ Alessa said firmly.
‘But you will, my sweet, you will.’ The Count stood watching her and the mocking light in his eyes became hot. She swallowed, determined not to show any fear. ‘You are a valuable exercise in self-discipline for me, Alessa. Now, rest. I am busy just at the moment, but I will return in an hour or so. There is water there, just within reach of your right hand. Sleep, and dream of fine castles, rich silks, a passionate husband and tall sons.’
Alessa tried to relax as he suggested, but it was a ridiculous ambition to sleep when her mind was in such turmoil. What the Count had said about the fate of her relatives and his plans for herself were the least of her worries. She believed him, rogue that he was; none of them was going to be physically mistreated, although she doubted her aunt would credit it.
No, what was gnawing at her was what the Count had said about Chance. Of course he knew what I am. He is not what he seems…What did he mean? Not an honest man? Not an earl? Could Chance be a confidence trickster, a fraud? Why not? Where better to prey on rich, unsuspecting people than a remote island in the Mediterranean? None of them knew the Earl of Blakeney by sight—he could be a short, fat redhead with gout for all they knew, and probably was, comfortably at home in London, unaware that his name was being used by a sharp, loose among the trusting marks, far from home.
She shut her eyes, trying to find some repose, but the memories chased themselves across the darkness. I cannot believe it of him, yet presumably gullible people were saying that every day as they discovered the skilled deceptions that were practised upon them. I cannot afford to be gullible, I cannot afford to let love conquer commonsense. Frances and my aunt and the children all depend upon me now.
The click of the door latch cut across her thoughts. Alessa froze, her eyes still shut, listening. The door opened, closed. Someone was inside the room. She braced herself to scream if it was one of the crew, and brought her head round sharply on the pillow. But the man leaning a negligent shoulder against the door jamb, his hands behind his back, was no randy sailor.
‘Chance!’He stayed so still that for a moment she thought she was imagining him. ‘Chance?’
‘Are you all right?’ He sounded concerned; there was something in the steady voice she could almost believe was anger, but he made no move towards her.
‘All right?’ Alessa wriggled until she was sitting upright. She grabbed the rails to which the silk bonds fettered her to the bed and glared at him. ‘Do I look all right? I have been betrayed by a man I thought was my friend, kidnapped by my aunt, and then again by your friend Zagrede. I have been hit on the chin, tied to this bed, entertained by a madman with a proposal of marriage—and now you stroll in to amuse yourself by mocking me. No, Lord Blakeney, or whatever your real name is, I am not all right.’
Chance shifted his stance against the door frame. ‘What do you mean, whatever my real name is?’
‘Well, as I assume the real Lord Blakeney is not cruising the Adriatic in the company of pirates, you are presumably some sharp travelling under his name. Or perhaps you are nothing but a pirate with an English education.’
Chance’s eyes were fixed on her face, his own dark with whatever emotion he was experiencing—Alessa doubted that it was remorse.
‘The Count went to Harrow,’ he remarked.
‘Did you meet there?’ She tried to match his conversational tone and merely achieved sarcasm.
‘No. I went to Eton. For heaven’s sake, Alessa, I am not a sharp, I am not a pirate, I am Blakeney and exactly who I told you I was. I came on this ship to fo
llow you, for no other purpose.’
‘Oh? And I suppose the Count gave you the run of it, did he? And you stood by while he boarded an English ship by force and took three Englishwomen hostage? I had not thought you a coward.’
That brought the colour up under the skin drawn taut over his cheekbones. Whatever he was about, Chance did not appear to be enjoying the situation, that was one comfort, and things felt so desperate, any comfort was welcome.
‘There was nothing I could do to stop them. If I had tried to, I would have been dragged below and locked up. I gave my parole until the ship was taken; I thought at least then I had some hope of stopping bloodshed, of looking after you.’
‘Indeed? And why should I believe you would care? You have already betrayed me, broken your word to me, abandoned those children—’ Her voice broke, and with it her temper. Better to shout than to weep, better to hurl all the bitter, hateful things she had been thinking about him than to let him gloat over her foolish trust for him.
‘You promised me you would make sure they sailed with me, and you have betrayed that promise. Have you any idea how they must feel? I shouldn’t imagine you have. You tricked me with that message to go to the ship, you connived with my aunt and my cousin—you are a liar and a traitor and a coward with no conscience…’
She could feel her voice beginning to shake and controlled it with an effort. ‘And now you lounge there, amusing yourself seeing me in this predicament and you do nothing, nothing to help make this better.’ The tears were welling up in her eyes now; Alessa bit down savagely on her lip to halt them. ‘I hate you, and I thought I…. I hate you.’ She yanked at the restraining ties, bruising her skin. ‘If I was free, I would like to kill you.’
There was silence in the cabin. Above their heads feet thudded on the deck, the faint sound of shouted orders reached them. The square porthole threw light across the middle of the room, touching Chance’s bare feet. He pushed away from the door frame, his hands still behind him, and stepped towards her.
‘There is nothing to be said to that, except that it is not true. None of it is true.’ Now she could see his face clearly Alessa saw he was white under the tan. ‘I was tricked too. I delivered that message in all innocence, and when I found out, I followed you, not knowing what Zagrede is. The children know what has happened, they are with Kate. I am no friend of the Count’s, and he knows it.’
‘The Count told me that you were not what you seemed. He warned me you wanted only to make me your mistress,’ she shot at him.
‘Do you believe what you are told by a man like that, or do you believe what you know in your heart and can see with your own eyes, Alessa?’
As he spoke Chance turned so she could see his hands, not clasped casually behind his back as she had imagined, but lashed together. His wrists and hands were bloody: he had struggled to free himself until he had cut the flesh raw, she realised, her stomach swooping into a sickening lurch.
‘How did you get in here?’ Alessa’s voice was hardly a whisper.
‘I picked the lock to my cabin, which was easier than I imagined it could be, with a hair pin and my hands behind me.’ Her face must have shown the question she was about to ask. Chance smiled faintly. ‘My good friend Zagrede appears to make a habit of entertaining ladies—my cabin has a dresser scattered with pins.’
‘How did you find out what happened?’ How could she have believed the Count rather than the man she loved? Had she been alone so long that she had forgotten how to trust, and expected to be betrayed? Perhaps she simply did not believe she could find, and hold, a friend like Chance.
‘Demetri told me—he stole a horse from the Residency stables to do it and rode right into the middle of the cricket match to storm at me that you had gone, with all your luggage, and I was responsible. The ship was still in harbour. I was trying to find a boat to get out to you when I saw you jump into the sea.’
‘Demetri saw?’
‘Yes. I sent him for help and tried to swim out to you, but they had you before I could get there. The Count fished me out like a drowned rat and offered to give chase. I was surprised, to put it mildly, when he slipped into a hidden harbour and transformed this ship into what you see now.’
‘And the children?’ She could not get the anxiety out of her mind.
‘With Kate and quite safe. I promised them I will get you back.’ His smile was gentle. ‘And I will.’
Chapter Twenty
‘I did not trust you.’ Alessa made herself meet Chance’s eyes squarely. Strangely she felt worse inside now than she had at any time since she realised she had been tricked aboard the Plymouth Sound. Everything she felt for Chance seemed to be wrapped around her heart so that she could hardly breathe. ‘I insulted and abused you—can you forgive me?’
He sat beside her on the bed, awkward because of his bound hands. ‘You have been alone for a very long time and life has not been very kind. Why should you trust me? I certainly cannot blame you for what you believed.’He hesitated and his smile was rueful. ‘But it hurt.’
‘Hurt!’ She snatched up the word, taking it literally. ‘You are hurt and I am lying here, doing nothing! Turn around, put your hands close to my right one and I will untie you.’
But one-handed, twisted round against the restraint on her other wrist, she could do nothing with the viciously thin twine. She knew she must be hurting him, although he only betrayed it with a sharp intake of breath when her nail dug into his raw wrist.
‘Hopeless—try to see if you can free me.’
But Chance’s efforts were as futile. ‘Silk, I see,’ he commented wryly, as he struggled with the hard, tight knot. ‘Your pirate admirer treats you well. No, I give up; we need a knife.’ He sank down on the bed next to her again. ‘You say he has proposed marriage?’
‘Oh, yes.’ Alessa allowed her head to rest back against the wall for a moment, wishing she dare rest it on Chance’s shoulder. He seemed to have forgiven her. She clung to that hope, but dared not risk rejection.
The struggle to free them both had left her shoulders aching. At first the position had not seemed too uncomfortable; now she longed to be able to lower her arms and bring her hands together. And Chance must be in an even worse state. ‘I think he must be mad if he believes he can get away with kidnapping three English ladies. My uncle and Sir Thomas will have the entire fleet after him.’
‘The fleet will have a hard time catching him in the midst of the Albanian mountains. Alessa…’ Chance turned his head to look into her eyes. He was so close she could see the individual whiskers of the stubble on his unshaven face. ‘Has he touched you?’
‘Other than hit me on the chin? No, I understand what you mean. Nothing untoward has occurred; he appears to think he is irresistible and has only to wait for me to fall into his arms.’
Chance gave a snort of laughter. ‘I know, he informed me so himself when I promised him that if he tried to rape you I would kill him. However, Zagrede maintains that, such are his powers of seduction, you will succumb. He appeared to find my indignation amusing.’
‘Succumb? I will do no such thing,’ Alessa said indignantly. ‘Why, you would have more chance of seducing me with one hand tied behind your back than he has.’
There was silence. Chance’s pupils widened and Alessa heard his breathing hitch. ‘I have both hands tied behind my back.’
‘Chance, you can’t—’ She got no further before his mouth crushed down on hers by the simple expedient of him leaning forward and allowing his momentum to carry them both down on to the pillows. He shifted his weight, unable to balance by using his elbows. Instinct made Alessa part her legs so that he was cradled between her thighs. The unfamiliar, masculine weight created a tense tingling sensation at the base of her belly that she had never felt before, any more than she had felt the full length of male arousal pressed hot and hard against her secret softness.
She moaned a little, half in fear of her own response, half in anxiety that she might not please him
. Her wrists strained inwards against the bonds, but she could not touch his head or stroke his hair as she longed to. Then the heat of his mouth claimed all her attention. He was angling his lips over hers, seeking to find a position where he could control the kiss without being able to use his hands. Alessa felt the tip of his tongue teasing at the join between her lips and parted for him, shuddering in delight as Chance traced the sensitive flesh for a tantalising moment before plunging in, ravishing her mouth with the heat and the thrust of his tongue.
She might be inexperienced, but Alessa understood only too well what this invasion mimicked, and her body understood as well. Without conscious thought she arched up against him, pressing against the impossible, terrifying size of him.
‘Oh, God, sweetheart, I want you so much,’ she could hear the whisper, husky against her inflamed skin as he shifted, licking and nibbling his way down her throat to her shoulder, down to the swell of her breasts.
‘I want you too, Chance.’
He said nothing, only murmured something against her skin as his mouth swept lower and his lips and teeth began to tug and worry at the edge of her light lawn gown. Then he found the drawstring that gathered the neckline, nipped the end of the ribbon in his teeth and pulled. The bow came free and he teased at the fabric until it fell away, exposing the fine line of her camisole.
‘It…ties…the same way,’ she gasped, struggling against the overwhelming urge to rock her pelvis against him.
Chance was growling softly with either frustration at her clothing, or desire, she had no way of knowing. And then the chemise was free and he was suddenly still, gazing at the white curves of her naked breasts.
‘You are so beautiful. Before, in the sea, on the beach, there was so much sensation, I did not look closely enough at you. So lovely, so perfect.’ He dipped his head and began to shower tiny kisses on to the soft flesh. Alessa could feel her breasts become fuller, heavier. Everything seemed to throb and yearn, every part of her body wanted him to touch it.
